One More Time with Feeling
by Olyvyadarling
Summary: John Hancock was living the dream, but he was high, bored and as always he was thinking too much. He was beginning to forget what it felt like to be a man. He was forgetting what it felt like to love and be loved. He was beginning to regret... Life tries to find a way to shake things up a bit in the form of a newly rescued slave with a baby on the way.


Goodneighbor. The town of rescues, rejects, criminals and the forgotten… and it was all Hancock's.

God, he loved everything about the place. The sights, the smells, the people… the chems, oh yes, most definitely the chems. If he were to be so dramatic, he wouldn't trade it for the world. He had everything he needed right here in this dilapidated corner of Boston.

_Which means I'm just getting too comfortable. Might be time to change it up a bit again._ Hancock took a drag of his cigarette and continued people watching from his place on the Old State House balcony.

He contemplated writing a letter to Nora and seeing if she wanted some company on her adventures around the Commonwealth, but he had a feeling she was still grieving her son and learning to love Shaun as something brand new. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of Nora in a few months, only knowing that she was doing well through the provisioners she'd send his way. Her letters never really focused on Shaun, but told him enough to know that their adjustment was taking some time.

Nora had encouraged Hancock to go back to Goodneighbor after Shaun had died and she was left with a synth boy - a shadow of who her son could have been. She had told her companion she would be alright and he had cautiously believed her. He still had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that 3rd generation synths were lurking everywhere, especially after discovering his brother was now one. So he walked away from his friend, promising he'd keep in touch as often as possible given the situation. He had synths roaming around Goodneighbor anyway, and he needed to be there to help integrate them without the rest of the town going into a frenzy.

Hancock cared about doing right by others and living life. If he was alright (self-deprecatingly, a chem addled zombie of a former man), surely Nora was doing better. She was an angel dropped into the middle of a post-apocalyptic America and she'd taken the changes in stride even after the Institute destroyed what family she had left. She was more than fine. He had no need to worry. Hancock wrote her at least once a week, shooting the shit the best he could through pen and paper, asking after Shaun and reminding her yet again that he didn't miss her weasel boyfriend and to make sure Macready knew it. He loved harassing the sharpshooter whenever he could. He especially loved the scathing letters Nora sent back to tell him to knock his shit off - It was the highlight of the long weeks really.

The ecosystem of Goodneighbor was running well without him most days, and some days like today, the mayor of Goodneighbor was a necessity. The sweltering heat of the past week did nothing to calm the nerves of some of the Goodneighbor citizens, synth, ghoul and human, leaving Hancock, Ham, and the Watchmen to deal with breaking up fights across town and eventually kicking the worst of the scum out of the town which basically went against Hancock's entire moral code, but he didn't want the town set aflame because of a few idiots running amok.

"Hancock, got a minute?" Fahrenheit called for the mayor from inside his residence. Moving all his belongings down to the other side of the old State House allowed him to enjoy the use of the balcony all day, every day. Fahrenheit could usually find him perched against the railing if she couldn't find him anywhere else. He was getting to be too predictable.

_Definitely need to write Nora._

Hancock side eyed his bodyguard moving to stand next to him. He could see beads of sweat making its way down her neck to roll into the clothes under her gear. No amount of pleading or asking would get Fahrenheit to lose her gear to cool down and so Hancock has given up on his quest, hoping she at least was staying hydrated and out of the radiating sun during this unfortunate heatwave. He could still hear her mocking tone when she'd told him to fuck off and she was a big girl. In memory, Hancock rasped out a chuckle from his place on the railing, flicking his finished smoke to the ground below. Leave it to Fahrenheit to basically tell him to grow a pair.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to sweat and feel overheated, but the desire to disrobe his frock coat and boots, and roll up his sleeves left him almost wanting more of the miserable heat. When he had a look in the mirror earlier that morning, the sheen on his pitted and leathered forehead and chest surprised him and then the regret began to pulsate in his chest at the idea that eventually he wouldn't be able to feel this human ever again.

But God after all these years that high was still _SO_ worth it.

"Darling, you know I got all the time in the world. How's business today?" He grabbed his beer off the railing and raised the bottle to the woman in cheers. He pulled repeatedly at his sweat slick shirt to fan himself as he drank.

Fahrenheit glared at him, well known for her dislike of his pet names. "Slavers are running around three blocks outside of town. My guys are hearing rumors that the mutants down the street are looking to buy up the whole lot.

"Hmm." Hancock frowned into his drink at her news, slipping a hand into his pocket in search of a mentat. "Must be a fresh Slaver if they are that dumb to cross into our territory." He popped the little red pill in his mouth, berry flavor bursting on his tongue. He turned black eyes to his second in command, "Well, bring some Watchmen, and we'll go pay our new friends a visit before the mutants can check off humans on their grocery list. What say you?"

* * *

It was Hancock's lucky day it seemed as the Slaver and his crew were passing Goodneighbor right where Fahrenheit's resources claimed. He had Fahrenheit wave them down as he studied the skeletal crew. Three men and a woman, packing pipe weapons and wearing raider leathers. Easy pickings. Good and stupid to waltz around the city in a heat wave, and he could tell. Not only were the slaves sluggish and obviously overheating, so were the slavers. He briefly scanned over the slaves stuck in chains and unusual metal collars he had never seen before. The collars look primitive compared to the collars most slavers had adapted to blow if shit went down. The slaves all looked as sunburnt, gaunt, and dirty as the next.

Hey, my man" Hancock eyed up the man at the front of the crew, assuming him to be the leader. "Name's Hancock and I run these streets. I'm interested in doing some buying."

"I'm Riley." The leader of the group reached the mayor, nodding in recognition, panting in the heat. He didn't waste time with small talk probably itching to get rid of the group taking up his resources and time. Hancock grimaced, half heartily listening to Slaver Riley's little speech. "There's ten total. Eight men and two women. Everyone here comes from the North Commonwealth so you know they are farm raised and can put work in."

Hancock closer studied the group of slaves in the line. His eyes instantly fell on the swollen belly of the young woman standing caboose and immediately his rage flared up at the sight. She was in a paper thin blue dress, a large leather belt strapped around her waist. She struggled to stand still, swaying her hips in discomfort, lifting her slippered feet gently off the ground in the process. He moved his gaze up to her face. Her forehead, cheeks and nose were blistered from the sun, lips cracked, and her eyes dark and sunk in from dehydration and starvation, her brown hair matted to the side of her head. She stared into the distance with her chained hands rested protectively over her stomach. "What the fuck is this?" He looked pointedly at the Slaver. "You seriously trying to sell used up damaged merchandise?"

The slaver followed Hancock's gaze to the woman he spoke of and smirked. "Found her waddling through the Commonwealth on the way here. Said she came from a settlement up north."

The woman's head snapped up to look at the men talking about her and stepped out of line, rage and hurt plastered across her dirty face. She was pulled back by the collar around her neck, nearly losing her already precarious balance, spitting on the ground in front of her as she yelled, her voice hoarse. "Fuck you, you lying sack of Brahmin shit. I should have never married you! I wish I'd never met you. Burn in hell, Peter Riley!"

The Slaver smiled widely at his wife before turning his attention to Hancock. "She's selling for 1500 caps, if you're interested. Two for the price of one. Damn good deal considering the going rate is 2000 caps for one Northy. Another perk is she's a feisty fuck and a _damn_ good cook."

Hancock felt nausea and rage burning in his belly at the casual tone in which Peter the Slaver spoke about his collared wife as if she was a pet. Hancock stood nearly shoulder to shoulder with the pathetic excuse for a man and he laughed out loud in disbelief. Without another thought, he whipped out his balisong and grabbed at the slaver's shoulder guard for leverage, stabbing Peter the Slaver three times consecutively in the gut never taking his eyes off of the pregnant woman staring the pair down. She didn't even flinch at his violence toward her husband before stepping back into line with the rest of the slaves. That was telling evidence for Hancock that the man wouldn't even be missed.

Hancock twisted and removed the knife, his attention back to Peter, staring him in the eyes as the shock began to set in. Hancock's voice was low and deadly as he leaned into the slaver's ear, "What kind of man actually tries to sell his own wife and unborn child?" He pulled back and wiped the blade off on Peter's cheek leaving two streaks of blood trailing down the side of his face. "Oh, that's right. You're not actually a man. Only a monster would stoop so low. Only a monster would treat people like possessions to be bought and sold . . . and it's quite ironic considering most people think _I'm_ the monster." A laugh laced his words as he gestured toward himself, blood still coating the knife and his hand. "It's crazy right? Anyway, good talk, you piece of shit." He pat Peter on the face and stepped back to let chaos enter the scene.

Peter choked on his words and fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and began bleeding out onto the hot cracked street. Gunfire erupted around Hancock as Fahrenheit and the Watchmen laid waste to the other slavers, bullets flying, slaves screamed and ducked for cover the best they could being mostly chained together with no rubble to hide behind. Each slaver went down easy except the one holding fast to the pregnant woman's collar

"I'll slit this bitch's throat if you come near me." The female slaver growled at the group advancing on her, pointing her knife at the pregnant slave's jugular vein. A combat knife whipped through the air and sunk into the slaver's forehead. The Slaver pulled the collared woman to her hands and knees with a dead grip on her chains and never moved again.

"Bunch of jackasses." Hancock muttered. He returned to dying Peter the Slaver after the relatively short battle, swiping the keys off his belt as he moved toward the fallen woman to assist her and to retrieve his favorite knife. The woman had already pulled the combat knife from the slavers head and scrambled away from the body and from the approaching ghoul, gasping for air and crying.

"Please. Please don't." She sputtered, backing up into the shadows of the adjacent building with no where else to go. She wrapped a hand around her stomach, and pointed Hancock's knife at him, tears running down her face. "Please don't hurt me."

"Hey, hey." Hancock soothed, kneeling down in front of her, silently returning his balisong knife to his inner coat pocket and raised his empty hands to show her he didn't mean harm. He could have taken his combat knife back, but he knew she felt some security with it and he wasn't going to take that away from her, not after everything the woman went through. "I'm John and I'm here to set you free. You're in Goodneighbor territory and these are my Watchmen." Hancock pointed to the crew behind him. "Can I take your chains off?"

The woman peered around Hancock and watched the red headed woman and other ghouls speaking calmly to the rest of the group, pick locking their collars and chains and handing out bottles of water. If anything the woman broke down crying harder. She nodded at Hancock as she sobbed, dropping the knife into her lap and held out her wrists.

"Let me just put this next to you so you don't cut yourself." Hancock spoke softly, picking up the knife and placing it on the ground by her thigh. He shushed her softly as he worked on unlocking the chains. He was especially gentle with the neck collar; the bruising around her neck was a deep purple, and irritated and rashy from the rusted metal rubbing against her skin. Hancock chucked the collar to the side in disgust and brought his attention back to the woman rubbing at her tender neck.

"Can you stand?" Hancock picked up the knife by the flat of the blade and offered it back to her.

The woman looked up at Hancock and he noticed her eyes were a vibrant hazel, the color stuck out against the blistered skin and dirt smeared on her face. She studied the knife and then Hancock before taking it back by the hilt. "I'm sorry. I've been walking for days. They barely gave us food and water… I just don't have the energy. Not anymore."

Hancock nodded in understanding. The adrenaline was keeping her on her feet. He stood and pulled his knife sheath out of his waistband as he spoke and handed it to her. "Here, put your knife in here. I'll teach you how to use it properly later, If you want me to."

"Thank you. I'm Jackie."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jackie. Although I wish it would have been in better circumstances." Hancock leaned against the wall and observed the carnage his group created before he addressed Jackie again. She'd finished putting her newly acquired knife away and strapped it to the belt around her waist. "I'm going to pick you up here in a minute, and we're going to my home in Goodneighbor. We will get you fixed up right and figure out what's next."

Fahrenheit walked up to the duo and tapped a bottle of water against Hancock's shoulder. He grabbed the bottle with a nod of thanks, twisting the cap off to offer the liquid to the seated woman. Jackie eagerly received the bottle and emptied it in seconds. She groaned and sighed in pleasure, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before handing the bottle back to Hancock, thanking him. Hancock could see her hands shaking, her bottom lip wobbled either from adrenaline or from her fading bruises on her face now more prominent underneath her sunburn. Anger curled around Hancock's heart seeing the woman like this. No one deserved to be treated this way. No one. God, he fucking hated slavers as much as he hated mutants and ghoul-haters.

He turned back to his second in command for a distraction from his fury, handing the slaver's keys off so she could finish getting chains off the slaves.

Fahrenheit scoffed, glaring at the keys dangling in Hancock's fingers. "I could have used these five people ago, asshole." She snatched the keys out of his grasp and stalked back to the group on the other side of the road.

"You're welcome!" Hancock called to his retreating bodyguard earning him the bird as Fahrenheit disappeared into the throng of people. "She loves me." Hancock grinned and winked at Jackie. That did it. Fahrenheit's solicited ire always brightened his mood.

Jackie smiled faintly at Hancock's teasing of his friend, but she was still cautious, afraid that this was all a big ruse and she would once again end up in chains or dead by tomorrow. No one would simply hand over their own weapons to someone they don't know. No one would save a slave just because. She wasn't a synth; they always seemed more important to save than human and ghoul slaves. She groaned softly and tried to adjust her position on the ground, rubbing at a particular spot on her rib cage where her child didn't want to budge from. She was at the stage in her pregnancy where it didn't matter what way she laid, sat, or stood: she was uncomfortable and she couldn't breathe. Standing would relieve the pressure on her ribs, but God her hips, legs and feet throbbed and she just wanted to go to sleep in a bed with a pillow between her legs. But first she needs a bath and a meal, and her face felt like it was going to melt off in the sun. Where could she even start with the misery? She was relieved that this man offered to carry her because she wasn't sure if she would be able to make another step without collapsing back on to the road.

Eager to get the group back to safety, Hancock stooped down to Jackie. "Alrighty, let's get moving." He curled an arm under the woman's knees and around her back and stood slowly. She was light. Too light… and it concerned him, given how far along she seemed to be in her pregnancy. He turned back to his crew, throwing instructions to Fahrenheit to loot and get rid of the bodies and the god forsaken chains and collars

"Wait." Jackie pointed to her now very dead husband face down in a pool of his own blood. "He has my ring around his neck. I want to sell it for some caps, if possible."

Hancock set Jackie down, steadying her before moving to Peter's body. "I'll take care of it for ya." He pushed the body over unceremoniously with a boot and ripped the ring off the dead man's neck. He turned and offered it to Jackie, pooling the necklaced ring into her palm and curled her fingers over the jewelry. "Keep it hidden until you get better. I run Goodneighbor, but some of my citizens tend to try and pull shit behind my back. I won't let them come near you though." He smiled confidently at Jackie before lifting her back into his arms

* * *

They returned to Goodneighbor without a hitch. Hancock left Fahrenheit and a few chosen neighbors in charge of helping the ex-slaves get back on their feet. He'd expected them fed, clothed and with work within the next two weeks, or at least given enough provisions to be on their way within that time frame and Fahrenheit knew it so he'd left his bodyguard to her work. Hancock returned to the Old State House with Jackie, silently and without complaint carrying her up the stairs to his personal residence.

Hancock helped Jackie into his home setting her on his couch before returning to the watchmen standing guard at his door. "Smithy, can you find someone to draw up a bath for Jackie, and order a hot meal for her. Tell Daisy and Dr. Amari to pay a visit too." He shut the door and turned around to find Jackie staring at him from her place on his couch, her hands gripping the back tightly enough to make her knuckles white. She looked around the room with wild eyes trying to decide if she should really trust him or the place he had brought her.

"Why are you helping me?" She asked cautiously, sinking back into the couch as Hancock moved around to sit with her. He was taking off his coat and hat as she spoke, chucking both on the table in front of him and he began rolling his sleeves up. "You could have released me and been done, but instead you're going above and beyond to help me. Why?"

Hancock stopped rolling a sleeve to point at her belly. "That's a pretty important reason. I don't know your story or how you wound up being a slaver's wife, but if I can make one innocent child's life easier by saving his mother from slavery, I'll do it. Shit, we were scouting for your group to rescue you either way, but you being with child really lit a fire under my ass. Who the fuck sells their pregnant wife?" He shook his head in disgust.

Jackie swallowed hard and looked down at her now bare feet, swollen from pregnancy and too much walking. "I didn't know he was a slaver. I thought he was a merchant. Goes to show how much I knew about my own husband." Tears began to slip down her cheeks cleaning a path down her face. She silently wiped at the tears as they fell; the mayor focused on the bruises and cuts on Jackie's wrists as she moved, listening and waiting for her story.

"When we found out I was pregnant, he'd pretended to be so excited and so happy, but he walked out to his shed and came back in with a collar and slapped it on me while I was turned away from the door cooking dinner. He told me then he had wanted to get rid of me for the past year, but he finally found the perfect ex-excuse." Jackie hiccuped and paused to breathe. "Apparently, pregnant women are a delicacy to mutants..." She stared up at the ceiling to blink back more tears.

If Hancock had the ability to turn green from nausea, he would have on the spot. "Jesus Christ." He stood up and walked away from Jackie and opened the door to lean against the balcony door frame for fresh air. He had his share of monsters under the bed, but this… this was pure evil, and it wasn't hiding under anyone's bed. "I"m sorry, Jackie." What else could he say to a story so vile? "If there is anything I can do to make up for what happened to you, I hope you will let me know."

Jackie flinched at his words and shuddered out a sigh, wiping the tears from her eyes with finality. She was strong, and she was done being the meek and mild wife. She had a child she would soon need to take care of, and she didn't have time to grieve for herself, or for what she once had with her now very dead husband. She glanced back up at the source of Peter's death staring her down from the doorway, promising her more than she'd ever expected from anyone.

_Hope. A chance for a fresh start._ She'd thought she could be angry or grieve for Peter's death, but she felt nothing more than unconditional relief. She was alive and she was grateful. "Thank you again, John. I'll do whatever you need of me to make up my debt to you. I promise I won't be a burden if I can help it."

Hancock waved her off. "For now, I just want you to rest, eat and drink. Take care of yourself so you can be the best mother to your son or daughter you can be." He shook up the inhaler of jet he'd slipped off the desk next to him and took a puff, ignoring the look of dismay coming from his new friend.

He tossed the now emptied canister back on the desk and exhaled a thin wisp of jet. "Eventually, we'll find you a job and you can do as you please. Stay and raise your kid here - though I _really_ wouldn't advise it. . . leave for somewhere better, go home, open up a shop, harass Fahrenheit, harass me, I don't give a damn." He smirked lazily at her. "Your life is your own and you can decide what you want to do with it."

Jackie picked at the dirt under her nails as she perched on the couch taking in Hancock's words. She could stay, she was safe; _they could stay, they were safe_. He would give her a job, a purpose, and she could provide for her baby. "I don't really have a home to go to. Not anymore. Peter was the only family I had, and obviously it turns out he hated me and thought I was below trash.

Hancock instantly recalled the conversation he had with the slaver and the anger on Jackie's face as he'd called her _used up damaged merchandise_. He swore under his breath. "Listen, about earlier… I didn't mean what I had said to that bastard about you. Believe me when I say that you are not used up and you're not merchandise. I don't define anyone's worth that way. That's not how things fly in Goodneighbor."

"I'm starting to realize that." Jackie replied, a faint smile ghosted across her face and then exhaustion settled into her body, into her bones and mind. It would be so nice to just be able to stop worrying if only for a little while. She wanted to lay back against the couch and close her eyes, but she wasn't done telling Hancock what she wanted to say.

Hancock didn't move to help Jackie when she stood, limping slowly toward the ghoul and wincing as she walked -the pins and needles sensation returned to her feet. He didn't question why she felt compelled to even stand with him given the pain she was obviously in, but she moved in the doorway, her belly filling up the space between them, and she stared up into Hancock's eyes. She didn't look at him in disgust, she didn't recoil in fear, but stood with him like he was any other man in the street. Not some zombie with a chem addiction.

Hancock shifted back again the doorway feeling like she was trying to stare into his soul, his jet fueled mind addled slowly at thought. _She does have such beautiful eyes_. He'd thought leisurely to himself; his trademark smirk inched its way across his face as he studied her face again, now noticing a sprinkle of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. The jet must have really hit now because he could stand in that doorway and look at her all day if she'd let him, bruises, matted hair and all.

"You don't know me, and yet you did more for me today than anyone has ever done in my life, and you continue to do for me. Thank you." Jackie grasped his forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. " I will make it up to you somehow and someday."

Hancock swallowed hard realizing in that moment that he might be in over his head with a pretty pregnant girl he had only just met. It had to be the chems fucking with him, but he nodded at her words, and gently broke her grasp to slip passed her to the hallway door. His movement now slower with the jet running through his system. He could still feel her hand gripping his arm, his nerve endings tingle from her touch. He could still see the intense look in her eyes as he walked away. He cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts. "I'm going to check on that bath and meal for you. Take a load off, okay? Make yourself at home." And he was out the door without another word.


End file.
